Mexico
by grieving-pln
Summary: A Re-Post from my LiveJournal, this One-Shot/Vignette was originally written and posted on May 28, 2007. There is a connection to my other Vignette, "Convergence", so I'm posting this here as well. Title: Mexico. One-Shot. Word count: 1,000. Canon:Spring 1976-Jack's first trip to Mexico, taking place immediately after he drives 1,200 miles north to see Ennis only to be turned away.


**Mexico**

The room stank of semen and sweat, blood and shit, filth and mold. The contents of a tipped-over beer bottle soaked into the sheets, dripping down the side of the bed, saturating the stained carpet below. An overflowing ashtray covered the nightstand, staining it black and gray…the colors of the night, the shades of their souls.

The dark-haired man stood at the pane, not bothering to put his clothes back on. The window was nothing more than a hole really, a mere crooked space covered with a metal grate. It resembled a set of prison bars more than anything else...fittingly.

A child ran underneath the window, calling out, trying to sell his wares, _"chicle, chicle…,"_ before disappearing around the corner. The man reached for his pants over the chair before turning around and gazing at the quiet American still stretched out on the battered bed.

The sheets were torn, filthy, and dissimilar. They reeked of substances both known and unknown. An old dried stain fused the mismatched sheets firmly together, making it impossible to determine when they'd last been washed.

The dark man smirked, a smoky haze encircling him, making his surprisingly white smile appear almost sinister in the dim, unlit space. His bright teeth glowed against the dark hue of his skin. His eyes were undecipherable, darker than the room itself. He made his way back to the bed with serpentine hips, still holding his pants.

The other man still lying there didn't even look up as he approached and sat down beside him. He was shaking slightly…maybe from the cold, perhaps from the liquor, possibly from the fucking…or maybe from the pain.

The sneering man knew he'd caused pain, violent tearing, and seeping of blood. But the blue-eyed man hadn't told him to stop. No, the pretty American with the nice eyes had kept hitting the bed, screaming for more…in English, yes… but still fully understandable, even for one who didn't speak the language.

_"__...desea hacerlo otra vez, sí?" _

Jack looked up, eyes blank and far away, completely unaware that the man had sat down next to him until he'd spoken. He didn't comprehend the words, but understood the look in the man's eyes, the lift of the brow, the quirk of the mouth. Jack remained expressionless, setting down the whiskey bottle, putting out his cigarette.

The prostitute smelled of rotten meat and putrid beer. Jack all but puked as the man leaned in quickly without warning, grabbing his hair, pressing against his face, _"muchacho bonito,"_ before reaching for his lips, trying to kiss him.

Jack retched and shoved at the man violently, knocking him off the bed, sending him sprawling to the floor.

"_What the fuck you doin?"_ Jack leapt from the bed, kicking the man once as he tried to rise.

The man's face registered shock, then anger, then mild fear, as he raised both hands in quiet retreat. He grabbed his pants and withdrew to the bathroom to get dressed, mumbling under his breath, _"Está loco Americano."_

Jack growled at the man's retreating back, _"Paid you to fuck me…not kiss_ _me…stupid mutherfuckin lame-ass moron!"_ In his tirade, Jack grabbed the closest thing at hand, the overflowing ashtray, and threw it at the withdrawing figure, missing the man, but covering the bathroom door in ash and broken glass. A cloud filled the room as the tray sailed through the air, leaving a billowing trail of cinder and ash and the smell of death in its wake.

Jack sunk back on the bed, still quivering. In truth, he'd been shaking the entire time, from the very moment he'd stepped out of his truck, walked through the seedy streets, found the tall dark man, and the two of them had found their way back to the room. Jack had trembled the whole time, screaming at the man to fuck him harder while he grasped at the bed and begged for more. Even as he'd felt his body rip and tear, he'd still pleaded to be fucked again…and again…wanting to feel something, anything other than the cold icy fingers ripping out his heart.

He'd felt nothing.

And as he looked at his body now, completely limp and unsatisfied, his only true awareness was of the hole in his chest growing larger by the moment, threatening to consume him and swallow him whole. All attempts to feel something else, anything at all, were buried under the growing darkness, pushing aside the temporary ache of the bodily pain and everything else that currently lived just below the surface of his walking shell of a lifeless soul.

The prostitute emerged from the bathroom quickly, fully dressed, and walked hastily to the door without looking at Jack. He grabbed the agreed-upon amount off the chair as he exited, appearing as though he would leave without another word, but at the last moment turned to the pretty man with the sad eyes and muttered a soft, _"La vez próxima, no?"…_before slipping away into the dark night.

_"__No..."_ Jack groaned painfully, understanding the look on the man's face more than the actual words themselves. _'No…I won't be back.' _The angry thought echoed inside Jack's ravaged mind. _'No! Never again. Not like this….' _

But even as he muttered the words, he knew he was lying.

Grieving something lost he couldn't even define, Jack rolled to his side, curled up in a ball, and wept. For he knew he'd come back again, now that he realized he could, and would still continue to breathe...

He'd come back to try to escape. He'd come back to try to feel. And he'd come back to try to forget, if only for so short a time, about the only brown-eyed man who mattered, the only one who could cause him such agony.

For only he could rip out Jack's heart with a word, a look...but leave the man still standing.

No other pain compared.

But it would have to be enough to help Jack forget, at least for a time.


End file.
